Duryodhana, after making sure that his father’s complacency was shaken, whispered to him in the privacy of his chamber, “We must look to our safety; the time has come. Our spies report that the citizens expect Yudhistira to be crowned any minute. You made a mistake in declaring him heir to the throne. People conclude that you are abdicating because of your handicap, as you had done once in favour of Pandu. We must wake up. I will try to wean away the more important sections among the people with gifts and honours, so that they may start speaking in our favour. It will work, but gradually. Meanwhile, it is important that we get Pandu’s sons out of the capital—temporarily, at least. If Pandu’s son becomes king, and after him, his son or his brothers, or their sons, and then their sons, we will be nowhere. There is no cause for you to feel alarmed. In your lifetime you will be cared for. Bhishma is here, and Pandu’s sons will not dare to touch your person. But others, the sons of the blind ex-King, will be doomed.”
Dhritarashtra waited for a chance to speak to Yudhistira, whose hours were fully occupied in the performance of his duties as heir apparent. He consolidated the territories he had won for the King, listened to public grievances, and inspected the army, encouraging the generals with words of praise and decorations. He was accessible to all and sundry, and hardly disturbed his uncle with affairs of the state.
Dhritarashtra waited for two days, and then summoned Yudhistira. “How hard-working you are!” he said. “It is my good fortune to have your help; you have relieved me of much fatiguing work. However, I have begun to feel that you must have a change, some relaxation. I am thinking where you should go if you wish to… ”
He paused, as if to consider several possibilities. Panic had made him crafty. He had already decided, on the advice of Duryodhana, to send Yudhistira to a place named Varanavata, at a safe distance from the capital. He continued, “During the coming festival of Shiva, the town will be full of gaiety, and I have no doubt you will enjoy this holiday. Take your mother and brothers along; take a lot of gifts with you so that you may distribute presents liberally to artists, performers, and learned men; stay as long as you like at Varanavata. After all, the heir to the throne must become familiar with all parts of the country and must have been seen by all his subjects before he ascends the throne.”
Yudhistira understood the implications of this generous offer, but kept his thoughts to himself.
On a certain day fixed by the astrologers, Yudhistira took leave of his uncle and, with his brothers, started for Varanavata in several chariots. A large body of citizens followed, a few among them expressing their suspicion about the motives of the King. Yudhistira assuaged their fears and suspicions. “Our King is our father, concerned with our welfare. He means well for us. We will come back after enjoying our holiday.”
As a piece of courtesy, Bhishma and Drona and other elders escorted the Pandavas part of the way, and then turned back. Vidura accompanied them farther, up to the frontier of the capital, where a group of citizens still surrounded them.
Before bidding them farewell, Vidura uttered a warning in a code language: “One who understands his enemy can never be hurt. One should realise that there are sharp weapons, though not of steel, that could strike if one is not watchful. What consumes wood and straw can never reach a hole; remember that the jackal emerges from many outlets underground. The wanderer may know the direction by the stars and survive by firmness of mind.”
Yudhistira answered in the same manner, “I have understood.”
Later, when the others had left and they were proceeding along, Kunthi remarked, “You and Vidura were conversing in a strange dialect before parting. We could not make out what you were saying. What was it?”
“You will understand in course of time. Let us not talk of it now,” replied Yudhistira.
The citizens of Varanavata received the Pandavas with great enthusiasm. They were invited into many homes. They mixed with the crowds and enjoyed the excitement of the Shiva festival. Among those who had received them with a great show of warmth was one Purochana, an architect, who was Duryodhana’s agent. He had designed for the Pandavas an exclusive mansion named the House of Joy, fitted with luxurious beds, carpets, and couches of original design, and stocked with food and drink. The five brothers and their mother each had separate accommodations with every comfort.
But when Purochana had left them alone, Yudhistira took Kunthi aside. “The wretch thinks I don’t know. Mother, this is what Vidura warned us about. If you sniff deeply, you will notice the smell of oil, resin, and straw, which are packed behind those gilded walls. The man lives here, to ward off suspicion, but he is waiting for a signal from our beloved cousin to start a fire at midnight. Let us be watchful and not betray any sign that we know.”
As hoped, a few days later, there came a quiet visitor, a messenger from Vidura. He identified himself by quoting Vidura’s parting message to Yudhistira, “Remember the jackal emerges from many outlets… ” to which Yudhistira replied, “I have understood.”
The visitor said, “I am a specialist in digging mines. I can make subterranean tunnels.” When Yudhistira took him aside, the miner continued, “Purochana has been ordered to wait for the dark half of the month and start the fire on the fourteenth day at midnight, when you are asleep.” With a grim smile, Yudhistira remarked, “How thoughtful of them!”
“I will complete my work well before that time,” said the miner. “May I look through this mansion and select a spot for excavation? No one must hear the sound of our crowbars.”
In a central portion of the house, a chamber of thick walls and doors, the miner dug up the floor behind closed doors, taking care not to rouse Purochana’s suspicion. When the pit was ready, its mouth was covered with planks and camouflaged, while the miner’s men went underground and built a tunnel. Purochana, unsuspecting, continued to play the role of steward to the Pandava household, and the citizens of Varanavata never had any inkling of the intrigues and counter-intrigues, but rejoiced to see so much of the Pandava princes in their midst.
When the tunnel was ready, Kunthi invited the public to a grand feast. After the guests had been fed and seen off, Yudhistira said to his brothers, “It is time for us to leave, too.”
They opened the secret passage, and after everyone had gotten in, Bhima remained behind to set fire to the house, starting with the room in which Purochana was sleeping. It was a successful conflagration. The material being what it was, very soon the whole building was in flames. By the time the town woke up to it, the Pandavas had proceeded far into the tunnel.
When they emerged at the other end on a river’s edge, a boat awaited them with ready sails. The boatman had been engaged by Vidura and established his credentials by repeating the message, “Remember that the jackal emerges from many outlets underground.” Then he carried them safely across the river. On the other side, they entered a thick forest, where they wandered aimlessly, wishing only to get far away from Hastinapura.
There was much public mourning and private rejoicing at the news that the Pandavas had perished in a fire. In the mansion named the House of Joy, the charred remains of a woman and her five sons had been discovered. Dhritarashtra had not expected his security measures to be carried so far, and was now conscience stricken. He ordered elaborate obsequies to be performed for the dear departed and country-wide public mourning.
4 Bride for Five
IN THE FOREST, Bhima maintained a watch, while his mother and brothers, overcome with fatigue, slumped down and fell asleep. His heart bled to see them lying on the bare ground. At the thought of their travails, he ground his teeth and swore vengeance on his kinsmen. But through his physical might and courage he was able to mitigate their suffering. He even carried them on his shoulder when one or the other was footsore or tired.
Once he encountered a rakshasa, hiding himself in a mountain cave, who waylaid and ate up any human being passing through the forest. Bhima destroyed him and made the forest safe for others coming after him. The raksh
asa’s sister, Hidimba, fell in love with Bhima, assumed a beautiful human form, and bore him a son named Ghatotkacha, who always came to his father’s aid in any crisis and played a great part in the battle later.
The path ahead seemed endless as the one behind. The exiles had lost all sense of direction or goal. They ate roots and berries or hunted game. They had passed many forests, mountains, and lakes, with nothing clear except that they were going in the right direction, away from Hastinapura. Kunthi asked now and then, “Do you have any idea when and where we shall stop?”
“No,” replied Yudhistira, “but I have no doubt that we will have guidance at the right moment.” He proceeded along, and the others followed.
One day at dusk, when they were resting beside a lake after the evening ablutions and prayers, they had a venerable visitor. It was their great-grandfather Vyasa, the Island-Born, and composer of The Mahabharata. It was a welcome change from the monotony of trudging along in the same company.
Vyasa said, “You see those two paths? Follow the one to your left, and you will arrive at a town called Ekavrata. There you will be quite safe from observation. You will have to behave like brahmins and live quietly and bide your time. Your fortunes will change and circumstances will change. But be patient. Ahead I see victory for your principles. Have no doubt that you will again live in your palace, rule the country, distribute gifts and alms to the needy, and perform grand sacrifices such as the rajasuya and aswametha.”
At Ekavrata, Vyasa introduced the Pandavas to a hospitable family who gave them shelter. They were at peace with themselves now, but for the gnawing memory of their cousins’ vileness. Yudhistira always calmed them with his philosophy of resignation and hope. Their daily life soon fell into a routine. As became brahmins, they went round the town begging for alms, returned with their collection, and placed it before their mother, who divided it among them. Bhima’s needs being greater than those of others, he was given the largest share of food. Thus life went on uneventfully until one day they found their hosts in great grief, arguing among themselves. There was much gloom and lamentation through all their quiet arguments, which were overheard by their guests. There came a stage when the Pandavas could not help asking for an explanation.
Their host said, “On the edge of this town lives a rakshasa who leaves us alone only on condition that every home send up, by turn, a cartload of rice and two buffaloes, to be delivered by a member of the house. He is always so hungry that he consumes the food, the buffaloes, and finally also the person who has brought him the food. We dare not complain, since he threatens to destroy this town if there is any form of resistance. Every home gets its turn; today it is ours. I want to be the one to go and save the younger members of my family, but each one of them wants to be the victim to save the rest. I don’t know. I think the best course would be for all of us to be consumed by that demon so that no one will be left to grieve for another….”
After pondering the situation, Kunthi turned to Bhima and said, “You take the food for that rakshasa today.”
But when Bhima readily agreed, Yudhistira tried to stop him. “We cannot risk Bhima, nor Arjuna, nor the twins, who are very tender…. Let me carry the food for the rakshasa. Even if I perish, Bhima and Arjuna will be able to see you all through your difficult days.”
He was overruled by Kunthi. “Let Bhima go; he will come back.”
Pushing along a cartload of food and two buffaloes, Bhima arrived on the edge of the town. He drove off the animals before entering the forest, and let out a big shout, calling the demon by his name. “Baka, come out,” he called repeatedly, and started eating the food himself. “Hey, you wretch,” he dared, “come on and watch me eat….”
The demon came thundering out. “Who are you to call me by name?” He was fierce and immense.
Bhima calmly continued to eat without even turning to look, as the demon came up behind him with all that uproar. Noticing his indifference, the rakshasa hit him from behind, but Bhima went on eating.
“Who are you, eating the food meant for me? Where are the animals?”
Bhima said, “Animals? The buffaloes? They are grazing peacefully somewhere. I drove them off. You will not have them or anything else to eat today. You are on a fast today.” He was unconcerned even when the rakshasa belaboured him from behind. “I don’t like this disturbance while eating. You must learn to wait.”
The rakshasa felt rather bewildered at first, and gave him a few more knocks, but Bhima with his mouth full just flicked him off as if he were a bug on his nape. The rakshasa now tried to pull him away from the heap of food and grab it himself. He could hardly move Bhima from his seat, and when he tried to reach for his food, Bhima warded off his hand indifferently.
“I am hungry, how dare you?” screamed the rakshasa till the forests echoed with his voice. “I will eat you.”
“Oh, yes,” said Bhima, “I know you will do it, you devil, treating those who bring you food as if they were a side dish. Know that you can’t do it any more….”
“Or do you plan to eat me?” asked the rakshasa sneeringly.
“No, I wouldn’t relish you, but I can tear you into morsels convenient for jackals and vultures to eat….”
Every attempt that the rakshasa made to seize the heap of rice was frustrated by Bhima, who began to enjoy the game immensely. All the rakshasa’s attempts to choke him were equally frustrated. Bhima did not budge until he had polished off every scrap of food he had brought, and then he turned to settle the score with his adversary. A grand fight ensued—they tore up immense trees, hurled boulders and rocks, and hit each other with fists. Finally Bhima lifted the rakshasa over his head, whirled him about, and dashed him on the ground. As he lay limp, Bhima placed his knee over him and broke his back.
The citizens of the town were filled with gratitude and asked in wonder how a brahmin came to possess such strength and valour, qualities which would have been appropriate only in a kshatriya. The Pandavas explained Bhima’s talents away by saying that he had mastered certain esoteric mantras which enabled him to overcome even the deadliest adversary.
It soon became necessary for the Pandavas to move on from the hospitable home, where they were now in danger of being recognized. Moreover, a traveller had informed them that Drupada, the King of Panchala, had announced the swayamwara of his daughter, and that he had sent invitations far and wide for prospective bridegrooms to assemble in his palace on a certain day so that the bride might make her choice.
The Story of Drupada
Drupada, smarting under the defeat inflicted on him by the disciples of Drona, had wandered far and wide and found a guru, who instructed him as to how to beget a son who could someday vanquish Drona.
Drupada had performed prayers and sacrifices, and from the sacrificial fire arose a son and a daughter. The son was born bearing arms and encased in armour, and had all the indications of becoming an outstanding warrior. He was named Dhrishtadyumna, meaning “one born with courage, arms, and ornaments.” The daughter was dark and beautiful and was called Draupadi and also Panchali.
Draupadi’s swayamwara was not an occasion to be missed, so the Pandavas and their mother started for Panchala. There, they occupied an obscure house on the Potters’ Street. At the start of each day they went round seeking alms, and brought home their collections to be divided among them by their mother.
On the day of the swayamwara, the Pandavas had left home early and joined the throng moving towards the palace. A vast ground had been cleared and built up with galleries to accommodate the visitors and the young men contending for the Princess’s hand. Princelings wearing gaudy decorations and bearing imposing arms had arrived on horseback and chariots.
The day started with elaborate ceremonies performed by the royal priests. At the appointed hour, Draupadi entered the arena and looked around, sending all the young hearts racing. She was escorted by Dhrishtadyumna, her brother, the Prince of the house. He announced that those who would be eligible to be garl
anded by the Princess must string a bow kept on a pedestal and shoot five arrows at a revolving target above by looking at its reflection on a pan of oil below.
The princes from the warrior class were the first to approach, but most of them withdrew after one look at the bow. One or two dropped it on their toes. Some could not even stretch the steel coil forming its bowstring.
Draupadi watched the process of elimination with relief. She saw the princes, in imposing battle dress, coming forward haughtily and retreating hastily, galloping away on their horses. Comments, jokes, and laughter filled the air.
The Kauravas were in a group at one corner of the hall contemptuously watching the arrivals and departures. Karna, the most gifted master of arms and archery, was there with Duryodhana. His brothers and henchmen occupied the seats of honour and jeered at the candidates who failed. A lull fell on the assembly when their turn came, and the girl shivered instinctively and prayed to the gods to be saved from them.
The Mahabharata Page 4